The Greatest Joy
by preciouslittleingenue
Summary: "She has been my greatest joy..." After the incident with the chandelier during Il Muto, the Phantom disappears, and Christine feels as if she can finally breathe again...that is, until she receives news that will change her and Raoul's lives forever. A short story in three parts. Musical-based.
1. Chapter 1

They were sitting in her dressing room, having their usual cup of afternoon tea. Raoul was chatting gaily, and Christine once again found herself entranced by his smile. God, he was so handsome…and so sweet, and so caring, and so good to her. He was the kindest, most loving soul she'd ever met. He was the light of her life. Surely this could not go wrong.

Although, her heart hammering in her chest and the terribly sick feeling in her stomach told her otherwise.

"Raoul," Christine breathed, interrupting his story, which quite honestly, she hadn't even been listening to.

He stopped and looked at her, confused. "What is wrong, Christine?" he said, noticing for the first time how she trembled.

"I…there is something…" She took a deep, shuddering breath. "There is something I have to tell you."

"What's wrong?" He put down his teacup and reached across the table for her hand. The look of concern he gave her was enough to make her heart melt. It was almost silly how twisted and scrunched up his perfectly sculpted face was. Had the situation been less grave, Christine might have laughed.

"You…you won't ever leave me, will you?" Christine whimpered.

"Never," he said passionately, tightening his grip on her hand. "Not for all the world."

"No matter what?" she continued. "You must promise me. No matter what happens, you must promise me."

"I promise, Christine," he said firmly. "Why are you doubting this?"

She looked into his eyes. He was being genuine, she knew. He would never lie to her, and he loved her so, she was certain. But fear and doubt can change a man, and he could be gone by morning, sincere or not.

"Tears," he gasped, reaching across the table to wipe them away with his gentle thumbs. "Why, Christine? What has happened?"

"To the roof," she said suddenly, and she seized his hand and dragged him up to the roof of the Opera once more. The last time this had happened, they were both in much danger of that shadow that loomed over them, and Raoul feared that they were once again in danger.

Both breathless, they reached the roof and once more retreated to the statue of Apollo.

"What on Earth is this about?" Raoul panted. "Is _he_ planning something? Need I take you away? Say the word Christine, and I will take you as far away from here as possible, and I will protect you until the ends of the Earth."

"No, no…" She shook her head. "I…" She bit her lip, forcing back more tears.

"Christine," he said gently, gripping her shoulders and rubbing them soothingly. "There is nothing you can't tell me."

"You can't leave me," she cried. "You promised."

"I would never!" He tightened his grip on her shoulders. "What is this about?"

She stared at the ground for a moment, taking a deep breath and steeling her nerves. Around them, the air had fallen still; not even the sounds of the streets of Paris below them could be heard. She looked back up and stared into his deep blue eyes, forcing herself not to break contact with them.

"I am with child," she whispered, a single tear trickling down her cheek. "Your child."

His eyes widened, and his mouth popped open slightly. Their two pairs of blue eyes stared at each other for a moment, one in disbelief and the other in petrified uncertainty.

"You…my…" he stammered. "I…oh, Christine," he moaned. "I'm so sorry…I never meant for this to happen!"

"You won't leave me?" she gasped out. "Please, do not leave me! You can't!"

"No! Oh, no, no…" He drew her into his arms and held her to him. She sobbed quietly into his chest, partly in relief, and partly still in terror. "Nothing could take me away from you. I promised you that."

His heartbeat in her ear and his gentle hands stroking her hair did wonders for her nerves. She lazily traced her fingers over his chest, trying to stop her tears.

"I love you so much, Christine, more than life itself," he said. "And this child…our child…I will love it just as much."

"Oh, Raoul!" Her tears began anew, and she fisted his shirt in her hands, desperate to be closer to him. "I don't deserve you! You are wonderful! Oh, I was so worried…The ballet girls and the chorus girls…there have been so many…and the fathers just _leave_ them…"

"Hush now, my love," he soothed. "Everything will be alright. I will keep you and our child safe."

"I'm frightened, I'm so frightened…" she sobbed. "I am not ready…my contract with the Opera is not through, I…I'm only eighteen, Raoul…I know nothing about children…we…we are not married…"

"I will marry you," he said without hesitation. "Hang the Opera, Christine. I will run away with you this moment and marry you."

She pulled back slightly so that she may gape up at him. "Truly…? You would leave everything behind to marry me…?"

"Anything. Anything you want to do." He took her chin between his thumb and finger and gently pressed his lips to hers. He pulled away upon feeling her tears on his cheek, and he wiped them away with his thumbs.

"It's going to be alright," he said again, stroking her wet cheeks. "I promise, everything will be alright."

"What about your family?" Christine said. "They don't even want you to be engaged to me…I'm sure they would never approve of a marriage. If we did it so quickly surely they would know why…they would disown you, Raoul. I would never forgive myself…"

"Christine, I am just as much at fault as you are," he said firmly. "No matter what my family choses to say about this, always know that we are both a part of this, and it is not solely your fault. If they chose to disown me, then so be it. We can start anew. Isn't that what you wanted anyway?"

"I…I suppose…" she said. "But I never would want you to give up who you are, your title. I never would have asked that of you."

"Christine," he laughed, and she looked up at him, baffled that he could laugh at such a time. "My title is not who I am. My family does not define me. I would still be your little boy from the shore no matter how much we have or where we live."

It was Christine's turn to take his face in her hands. She sculpted over his handsome features with her soft fingertips. "I love you so much…"

Raoul smiled softly, and he suddenly dropped to the floor. He took her lily white hand in both of his and got up on one knee.

"Raoul, what on Earth?" she giggled. "We are already engaged - !"

"But it was a secret," he said. "And we did not know what was to become of it, then. Now we will officially be married, and very soon. And I want an official proposal." Christine blushed wildly, not able to suppress the silly grin that plastered itself on her face. "Will you, Christine Daaé, run away with me, and marry me?"

Christine giggled like a little schoolgirl. "Yes," she said breathlessly. "I will run away with you, and I will marry you."

He suddenly stood up and seized her around the waist with both of his arms. He swung her around, laughing out loud, and she giggled madly.

"Raoul!" she scolded. "Do be careful! The baby!"

"Oh!" He immediately stopped and gently placed her back on the ground. They both desperately gripped each other, swaying with dizziness and laughing at their own foolishness. Once they were steady, Christine threw her arms around his neck and kissed him passionately, nearly knocking him over as she did so. They both laughed into the kiss, and they were beaming at each other when they pulled apart.

"Where will we go?" Christine asked.

"Anywhere," Raoul answered. "England? Italy? Sweden?"

"Perros," Christine said, her eyes lighting up. "Imagine, Raoul: You and I, raising our child on the shore. We will teach it to love the sea as we did. We will be married in the little village church, the church where I sat with Papa every Sunday…Oh, just imagine!"

"Then we will go to Perros," Raoul said. "Oh, Christine! We have our whole lives ahead of us!"

Christine laughed out loud and kissed him again. "I love you…"

"I love you."

"Oh, I cannot run away without telling Madame," Christine said sadly. "She will be worried sick. I only hope that she will not be ashamed of me…"

"Madame loves you like a daughter," Raoul assured. "She may not be pleased, but her love will stay the same, and the same goes for Meg, who loves you as a sister."

"I do hope you're right," Christine said.

"I suppose I should at least _attempt_ to speak to my brother about this," Raoul said. " _He_ will be ashamed…"

"We must be strong together," Christine said, firmly grasping his hands. "No matter what happens, we will find our way back to each other. No matter what the world has to say, we will come back together and live our lives together…as a…a family."

Raoul's eyes twinkled strangely, in a way Christine had never seen before. He released his grip on her hands and wrapped one arm around the small of her back as he gently placed his other hand on her stomach, kneeling down so he was eye level with it.

"There…there is life in there," he marveled. "This is our child…"

"Yes…" she breathed, tears welling up in her eyes again. "This is our family."

Raoul looked up at her, and she was taken aback by the tears that lingered in his eyes. "Oh, Christine…"

She bent down and kissed him again. He stood up to his full height once more. "You will speak with Philippe, and I will speak with Madame and Meg. Come back to my dressing room and have a carriage waiting for our departure with everything we need. I will pack whatever I need while I wait for you."

"Yes…yes." He kissed her again. "I love you."

"And I love you, my soon-to-be husband." Her heart fluttered at the sound of the word on her lips. "Until tonight."

They parted ways and Christine made her way to the ballet dressing room, praying to find Meg there. She approached the door trembling with anxiety, knocking on the door with her shaking hand. Sorelli opened the door and rolled her eyes.

"Meg! Someone is here to see you!" she called behind her.

The little blonde bounded to the door and smiled. "Hello, Christine!"

"Where is your mother?" Christine said.

"She's in a meeting with the managers," Meg said uneasily, sensing the urgency in Christine's voice. "Is something wrong?"

Christine pulled Meg out of the doorway, and Sorelli was all too glad to shut the door behind them.

"Christine what on Earth is this about?" Meg said, baffled.

"You must take me to your mother," Christine said. "There is something both of you must know."

"Well…we can wait outside the managers' office," Meg offered. "But I am not sure how much longer it will be…Something is wrong," she said. "You're trembling, Christine…"

"I…I am afraid to tell your mother," Christine said, tears welling up in her eyes. "She will be ashamed of me."

Meg looked at her with confusion, and then suddenly gasped. "Are you…are you in _trouble_ , Christine?"

Christine bit her lip and nodded, her tears overflowing. "I've brought shame to your mother, I know it…"

"Hush now," Meg said gently, pulling her friend into an embrace. "I know my mother. She will do everything in her power to help you. She will not cast you away, I swear it." Christine cried quietly, suddenly wishing that she'd just run away with Raoul without even coming back to the Opera. It would have been so much easier…

"Oh, Christine…I didn't even know that you were…that you both…oh…" Meg sighed sadly. "Does Raoul know?" she asked. "You are planning on telling him, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes…" Christine sniffled. "He knows."

"He isn't _leaving_ is he?" Meg asked, terrified of the answer.

"He is not that kind of man," Christine said confidently, her heart warming at the thought of her gentle, caring fiancé. "No, he is not leaving, but we are leaving."

"What do you mean?" Meg asked, pulling out of their embrace.

"That is what I need to speak to your mother about - "

"What is it you need to speak to me about, Miss Daaé?"

Christine and Meg both nearly jumped our of their skin, and they whirled around to see Madame Giry standing there.

"Mother," Meg sighed with relief. "We were just about to go and find you."

"What is it, child?" Madame said, suddenly concerned, noticing the tracks of tears on Christine's cheeks.

"I must speak to both of you," Christine said. "Come; we must leave the Opera."

They gathered themselves and left the Opera. They walked across the street to a small cafe and Christine found them a corner where no one was sitting. She'd been to this cafe many a time with Raoul, and she knew very well that no one ever came to that spot. She and Raoul had never been found kissing there, and Christine allowed a tiny smile along with a little blush as she remembered the last time they were here. She then looked at the two women standing before her and remembered why she'd brought them there, and reminded herself what she must do now. She gestured for them to sit, and they sat beside each other and Christine sat across the table. She took an enormous breath.

"I…something has…happened," Christine began, unable to look at Madame and fixing her gaze on the cracks in the floor instead. "Raoul and I…we have not been…" She bit her lip again in shame, angrily twisting her skirt in her hands. "We have not been careful." A tear dropped into her lap. "I am with child."

Madame Giry's eyes widened slightly. There were plenty of things that she'd been expecting, and that was most certainly not one of them. Meg nervously looked back and forth between her friend and her mother.

"I know I have brought you shame," Christine said, her voice breaking. "I know I ought to be ashamed of myself. I've sinned and now I am paying for it. I am so sorry…" she sobbed.

"Raoul knows?" Madame asked calmly. Christine nodded silently. "And what of your career? You'll be showing for months by the time your contract is up."

"I…I know…" Christine stammered. "I…I'm running away with Raoul," she said, looking up at Madame for the first time since she'd sat down. "We are going to Perros. We will be married and raise our child far away from Paris."

"You would leave everything behind?" Madame asked coolly.

"What other choice do I have?" Christine said. "I will not…I _won't_ get… _rid_ of it. I am sick even thinking of it. This child is my flesh and my blood and I intend to raise it as such, with its father right beside me. I…I love him, Madame, and he loves me. We were bound to be wed eventually…now it is just…a bit sooner than we had anticipated."

"You realize, child, that you will never be welcome back here again," Madame said, and Christine felt as though someone had kicked her in the throat.

"Mother," Meg said harshly, in disbelief of what she was hearing.

"Hold your tongue, Meg. I do not mean by me," she clarified, and Christine exhaled the breath she had sucked in. "I mean by the managers. You will be unable to renew a contract that you've broken, and they certainly won't write you a new one. By the time you're able to work again they will have found someone new. You won't ever sing again, Christine."

Christine bit back more tears and breathed deeply. "I know," she said shakily. "I know I've ruined my career and my future. But I cannot do anything else. I fully intend on taking responsibility for my carelessness. Perhaps someday some other Opera will take me. But I…I cannot think that far. Right now I must get away as soon as I can. It…it will start showing very soon, and I cannot take any chances. It…it already has I think. I feel…different." There was a long silence, in which mother figure and daughter figure stared at each other. "I…I'm sorry, Madame." Christine hung her head in shame.

There was the sound of Madame leaving her seat and taking a few steps, and Christine was sure she was leaving without saying a word, too ashamed to even look at her anymore.

"Christine," came Madame's voice. Christine was surprised to see her standing before her upon picking up her head. "Stand up, Christine."

Christine obeyed, trembling like a leaf. Against the expectation of everyone present, Madame gently took the trembling girl into her arms. Christine stiffened, entirely unsure of what to do. After a moment, though, she gratefully returned the embrace, a sob escaping her lips. In that embrace, Christine knew that she would not be alienated, that Madame would still love her just as fiercely as she had all along.

"You already know that you've made a mistake," Madame said, stroking the girl's hair. "The last thing you need to hear is me tell you that, and berate you for it."

"Thank you, Madame," Christine cried. "Thank you…"

"Hush, child," Madame said. "When are you leaving?"

"Tonight, when Raoul comes for me," Christine said. "I…I will forever be grateful for everything you've done for me. I will not ever forget you, Madame. I've truly come to think of you as my mother."

"And do you truly think that a mother would let her daughter walk out of her life forever?" Madame said. "You can not get away from us this easily, Miss Daaé. We will be visiting as much as we can."

"Oh, yes, please…" Christine tightened her arms around her. "We would appreciate your company so very much…"

"Let me tell you this: I was not ready for my child either. It was a most terrifying time for me and my husband. But I can say with great confidence that she has been my greatest joy." She met Meg's eye, who smiled brightly. "And as have you."

Christine could not find the words to express how much those words meant to her, so she simply tightened the embrace again and blinked back a fresh set of tears.

They remained silent in their embrace for a moment before Madame gently pulled away, resting her hands on Christine's shoulders. "Does he know?" She asked suddenly.

"Yes…I…I told him. We are leaving tonight…"

"No, child," Madame said urgently. " _Him_."

Christine's blood ran cold, and her body went stiff. She rigidly shook her head.

"Then he must not," Madame said. "Worry not. I will keep him distracted long enough for you to pack your things and get away. How long will you need?"

"An…an hour…?" she stammered, her head now swimming.

"It will go faster if I help," Meg offered. "We'll be done in no time, Christine. I promise."

She nodded once, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to stop trembling. She would pull this off. Madame would keep her safe until she must leave, and then she would leave behind the Opera, Erik, forever. _Oh, Erik will be absolutely heartbroken…_

"This will kill him, Madame," Christine said suddenly with dreaded realization. "I will break his poor heart…"

"Enough of that," Madame said. "Your safety and that of your child is more important than his fragile and dangerous heart." Madame began ushering her girls out of the cafe. "And believe me when I say this," she stopped walking and looked Christine straight in the eye. "All pity will be gone if he finds out. You will feel nothing for him but sheer terror. I promise you that." Christine stared at her with wide eyes for a moment. Her heart screamed that her dear Angel would never hurt her…and yet he'd kidnapped her and thrown her about, who was to say he wouldn't do it again? And surely betraying his heart and his trust would be worse than removing his mask…

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," Christine said firmly. "Yes; I must leave him."

And to her surprise, she had never been so sure of anything in her life.

The three women made their way back to the Opera and Madame Giry went off to find Erik. Meg and Christine frantically packed all of Christine's clothing in their dormitory, and they then hurried into her dressing room. Christine lovingly tucked away the photograph of her father, and suddenly there was a familiar clicking noise.

The two girls whirled around to see the mirror slide open, and terror seized both of their hearts. That figure that they both dreaded so stalked toward them, and they both knew not what he wanted. It all happened so quickly that no one could stop it from happening. There was a flash of white, Meg's scream, and a little body dropping to the floor.

"Meg!" she cried out. "What have you done - ?"

"Keep quiet, dear, or you'll be next," he snarled. He dangled the white cloth before her eyes, and the hideous scent of chloroform wafted to her nose, making her head spin and her stomach churn.

"Erik, why are you doing this —?"

She was cut off by his abrupt seizing of her wrist. She cried out in shock as he began dragging her to the mirror. She threw a terrified glance back at her friend who lay sprawled across her dressing room floor. The mirror slid shut behind them, and she was immediately encased in damp, echoing darkness.

* * *

 _Yikes! We all know **that** is not going to end well..._

 _Please leave reviews, and stay tuned for the next chapter! Thanks so much!_


	2. Chapter 2

"You've hurt her!" Christine cried, desperately trying to wrench out of his grasp. "You must go and help her — "

"No, no, no," he said, seemingly chanting to himself. "Erik must not let go of Christine. For the minute he does, she will flee to bed…bed, bed, bed…"

"Erik?" she whimpered. "You're frightening me…"

"Erik thought little Christine was so innocent, so pure," he continued his chanting. "Too young for such atrocities…too young, too young…"

"Erik, what are you saying?" she shouted, and she cried out again at another sharp jerk at her wrist.

"Erik thought his little girl was pristine…Pristine Christine, Pristine Christine…"

"Erik!" she cried, desperate to remove him from that strange state. "Erik, let me go! You are hurting me!"

"Pain is awful, isn't it, Christine?" he said lightly. "When your very life is in the balance of someone else's hands, and the pain is out of your control, something you cannot prevent or stop…"

"Erik — "

"Does it hurt, Christine?" He suddenly whirled around and seized her other wrist with his other hand. He began squeezing them with extreme force, and Christine screamed as she felt something crack. "Isn't the pain just delightful, Christine?" In his eyes was a mad, sick glow.

"Erik!" she shrieked, frightened and pained tears rolling down her cheeks. "Let me go! It hurts!"

"It hurts! It hurts!" he mocked her. "Did it not hurt, Christine, the first time your innocence was penetrated? Did you cry out to your precious Vicomte in pain? It hurts! It hurts!" Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, none but a tiny whimper escaping her trembling lips. "Did you writhe beneath him, beg him to stop? Did he continue on, deaf to your pain and listening only to his pleasure? If it is someone who is deaf to your pain that you wish for, Erik is just right for you!" A loud, terrified sob suddenly echoed around them, and it took Christine a moment to register that it was hers.

"Or did you perhaps…enjoy it?" He snarled, pushing his face near hers so there was a mere inch between his horrid face and her own. "Did the pain melt away into ecstasy? Did you cry out his name, beg him for it, like the _slut_ that you are?" She was shaking like a pitiful leaf, and he growled like a rabid animal and continued their journey. She screamed as he released one wrist; it was broken, she knew it.

"Did you truly think Erik would never find out?" he shouted as he dragged her along behind him. "Did you really believe your dirty little secret would be kept forever? Christine must be a stupid whore, then! Even a streetwalker knows that someday she will be found out! They wait for the day! But no! Little Christine believes the whole world owes itself to her, that they will keep her secret!

"Worst of all, it was _yourself_ who revealed it to me! After all this time of being so very careful, the dumb slut reveals her infidelity right to her Erik! I have eyes and ears everywhere, you know! Such a waste of your time, such a pity…"

They reached the boat, and he roughly threw her into it, stepping inside and not caring about the water that sloshed in and soaked Christine. Finally free of his grasp, she clutched her broken wrist and sobbed freely.

"I thought of drowning you in the lake, you know," he said thoughtfully. "It would be a rather symbolic way to go. Like the holy men who throw buckets of water on the harlots. But I reasoned that would be too easy. You are unworthy of such a simple death."

With every inch that the shoreline disappeared, Christine saw and felt her very life slipping through her fingers. She was so close! So very close to escaping this nightmare forever! He would have been only a distant memory! But it was not to be! She was to be eternally punished for her sins, she knew he would see to that! She thought of perhaps throwing herself into the lake before he could harm her, but certainly he would fish her out and punish her further for trying to escape…

Before she knew it, he was seizing her wrists again, and she screamed in pain. He dragged her into his house and threw her to the floor with a rough grunt. As she landed on her stomach, Christine suddenly felt a horrible pain in her abdomen, worse than the pain in her wrist could ever be. She screamed and curled into a ball clutching her middle. Terror suddenly seized her heart. Her child! She could not let him kill her! He would be slaughtering her child! Oh God!

"Please!" she cried desperately, her vocal chords shredding with her cries. "No more! Please, Erik, no more!"

"You had your chance!" he suddenly bellowed. "I let you go free! I gave you my trust along with my heart! And you betrayed it! You took my heart to bed with the Vicomte! You use that sickening innocence of yours to tempt poor wretches like me! You convince men that you are pure and sweet, but you take to bed the next man that you fancy! Wretched slut!"

"Please! Listen to me!"

"You shall pay for your wickedness! I am sure your God will agree with my punishment, hm? Does your holy book not say that only married women are to share a bed with a man? Your God is ashamed! Your father up in Heaven is ashamed! Look at you, Christine!" he spat. "Your Father raised you an honest girl! He dies, and you run off and bring shame to his name! You have stained his name as blatantly as you stained your sheets!" She cried loudly, curled into a miserable ball. "He would be disgusted. He would throw you into the streets with the rest of the whores. How much did the Vicomte give you, I wonder? Surely a notable sum! Perhaps even more than your Opera salary! If money and trinkets were all it took to win your favor I should have done it! Is that what you want, Christine? Shall I throw money at you, drench you in jewels and chains? Would I then get to share your bed? Is it all as simple as that?"

"Enough!" she shrieked. "I am sorry! I am sorry!"

"Here! Here!" He threw coins at her. "Can I have you now, Christine? Is it not enough? Surely the Vicomte gave more; silly Erik! Here! Here!"

The coins rained down on her, and she covered her face with her hands in pitiful defense. "Erik promises he will buy you a pretty bauble for next time! Can he have his prize yet? Can he finally claim what was rightfully his to begin with?"

She sputtered incoherently on the floor, and this infuriated him. "What, Christine? You cannot look upon your newest suitor? Is Erik not handsome enough for you?" After ripping off his mask, he lunged for her wrists and yanked her off the floor. She screamed in pain. "Look at me, slut! Look at the face that is yours! I'll not have you pretend that I am your handsome Vicomte! You will look at me, you will know who it is you belong to!"

"Erik!" she shrieked. The pain was overwhelming. "My baby! You are hurting my baby! Enough, enough, please!"

"It is not my child!" Erik said, throwing her back to the ground. "Why should I care what becomes of it? You had your chance to protect it! Whatever happens to your bastard child is none of my concern! If the thing dies, it is no one's fault except its slut of a mother!"

" _No_!" she shrieked. "Please, Erik! _Please_! I will do anything you ask of me! Anything! Please, just let me carry it to birth, and let me give it to someone who can care for it, and then you may keep me! All to yourself! I will be all yours! Just let me carry and birth my child and see that it is cared for! Please!"

"Most respectable women wish their bastard children dead, anyway," he said carelessly. "Then again, you are not a respectable woman."

"Please…" she sobbed. "I will do anything…"

"How she begs!" he said incredulously. "It is admirable, but alas, your pathetic tears move me no longer. I know better than to give into them anymore. I know it is all a farce! You care only about getting away from Erik, saving yourself! You can no longer convince me that you care an ounce about anyone but yourself, including your child. But no matter. I will keep you down here as mine. You cannot be trusted to function amongst normal society anymore. How do I know you will not open your legs to the next wealthy man you see? Is the child even the Vicomte's?" He laughed, a horribly cruel, bitter laugh.

"Erik…I am sorry…I was weak…I did not…I…"

"Silence! Enough!" he boomed. "You have no choice! You are mine, Christine! You _always_ belonged to me, but now your freedom is mine as well! This is your life now!"

"It hurts…It hurts…" she whimpered, clutching her abdomen desperately. Surely this was not normal…he'd killed their child, and now he would kill her…

"I can make you happy, Christine," he said, suddenly gentle. "I can give you pleasure, perhaps more than your Vicomte. I can give you children, too! We can live a normal life! I will let you keep the child if you are a good girl. If you are obedient. We can marry, and we can pretend that it was mine all along…it can call me father. And then we can make our own children if it will make you happy. But you must be good. You are very lucky that Erik is gracious enough to let the bastard of the Vicomte live in his presence…"

"It hurts! It hurts!" she wailed. "Oh! _Oh_!"

"Erik is not even touching you!" he shouted, irritated. She was not even listening to him! His generosity was going ignored! "Cease your tears, Christine! Enough! Erik is being so very kind! Do you even hear?" She continued to moan in pain and to cry out, her wretched tears soaking the carpet. "I said enough! Silence! Damnable woman!"

He suddenly lunged to the floor and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to sit up and stare at him. She shrieked in pain.

"Shut up! Shut up!" he shouted, shaking her forcibly. She screamed again, unsure how much longer she would be able to bear this. "Erik cannot bear it anymore! Silence! Silence!"

He threw her down again with a frustrated grunt, and he stalked away. Christine wanted to scream for help, someone, anyone to save her baby…

Suddenly his hand was clutching the back off her neck and a cup was lifted to her lips. She squirmed away from him, slapping the cup out of his hand with a savage force she did not know she had. He growled angrily and left her again, no doubt to get more. She tried desperately to crawl to the Louis-Philippe room so that she may lock herself in, but the pain was too great. He soon returned, and he sat on top of her so that she would not move. This knocked the breath out of her, so she was unable to even let lose the horrid cry of anguish that came. She resigned herself to her fate and let him pour the strange liquid down her throat. It was bitter, it was sweet, it was hot, it was cold…

Colors danced before her eyes, and then there was nothing.

* * *

Antoinette was trembling fiercely. She quickly wiped away the tears that lingered in her eyes. Listening to Christine scream in pain, listening to him say such horrible things to her…it pained her.

She was standing behind the door of the bathroom that was off the Louis-Philippe room. When she'd arrived at his home, he was not there. She realized very quickly that she was too late; he already knew, and he was already on his way to drag Christine down here. She'd made a quick run for the bedroom that was meant to be Christine's, and looked for something, anything that would disable him. She settled for the porcelain water pitcher on the nightstand. She'd heard water sloshing in the lake, and she knew they would be here soon. She rushed into the bathroom and waited in silence, listening to Christine's suffering with a racing, pained heart.

She heard him rattling in the cabinets, and she knew she'd made the right prediction. He was going to sedate her and lay her down in her bed. Then, as planned, she would creep behind him from the bathroom and smash the pitcher over his head, use the same sedation on him as he'd used on Christine, and then she would somehow drag Christine back to the surface. Come Hell or high water she would get the girl out of there.

The bedroom door opened, and she silently poised herself.

She heard his footsteps approach, she heard them stop. She heard the creaking of the bed, meaning he'd just put her down. She crept out from behind the door, pitcher raised over her head. His back was turned to her; he was tucking Christine in. She took two more silent steps, impressed with how little noise she was making.

"If I were you, Madame," he said chillingly. He did not turn around. "I would think twice before taking another step."

Her breathing became ragged, and she began to feel clammy. She should have known it was impossible to sneak up on a phantom.

"And I would put down that pitcher."

She debated just running at him and smashing it over his head anyway, even though the odds were against her. _I should at least try_ …but in the end, she could not bring herself to do it. Exhaling heavily in defeat, she slowly put the pitcher on the floor beside her. She was a coward. She had failed.

"You know you can't keep her down here," she said coldly. She hadn't anticipated having to talk sense into him. "She is going to need doctors. For the baby, I mean; never mind any of the injuries you just gave her."

"She will be fine. I have all the medical knowledge I need to care for her."

"From what, treating bullet wounds on yourself? You know nothing of the female anatomy, what women go through when they — "

"Shut up, Giry," he snapped. "I am all she needs. That is how it has always been."

"The father of her child will not hesitate to come after her," she continued, ignoring him. "You will not have peace."

"The only ones who know how to get where we are are here in this room. No one can tell him where to find me. And besides, we will not stay here. I am taking her away."

"Do you have any idea what you're saying? You would kidnap a young girl, a young girl that is with child, take her away from everything she knows, everyone she loves — "

"I am all she needs!" He finally turned around to face her.

"You would lock away a pregnant girl from the medical attention she needs? There is blood on the sheets! You've already hurt her and her child enough!" Truthfully, she was starting to panic, and she hoped it did not show. Christine was bleeding from where a pregnant woman dreads. Mother and child would die if something was not done soon.

News of blood on the sheets caught his attention, and he whirled around, lifting the blanket, exposing the crimson stained sheets. His body went rigid. "Look what he has done to her!"

" _He_?" Antoinette seethed.

"The Vicomte has ruined her! Look how she bleeds! Oh, Christine!"

" _You_ have ruined her!" Even she was shocked at how angry she sounded. "This does not happen to every pregnant woman. This happens to pregnant women that are battered and beaten! Look what _you_ have done to her!"

"This is for her own good!" He turned around to face her again. "I have to save her from the evils of this world! The world has already tainted her…look what the world has done to her!"

"You are a madman! Moments ago you were calling _her_ evil, you were blaming _her_! Now she needs protection? Now it is the fault of the world?"

"Oh…will she die?" He turned back to Christine. His hands hovered over her awkwardly, as if he did not know where to touch her, did not know how to fix her. "Tell me, woman, will she die?"

"She very well could!" She shouted. "She needs a doctor! Now!"

"You will get a doctor then!" He shouted back, much more loud and frightening than her shouting.

"You expect me to fetch a doctor and tell him there is a patient that needs him five stories below the Paris Opera?" She scoffed. "Enough of this madness. Carry her up to her dressing room, and I will take her to a doctor from there."

"No. She will not leave me. Never again."

"Then you will let her die because of your own selfishness!"

"Christine is selfish! She took my heart to bed with the Vicomte! I trusted her, I let her have her freedom! No more, no more! She will run from me as soon as I — "

"She is a young woman that belongs to no one but herself! She is not yours, she is not even the Vicomte's! She is a girl of her own free spirit, and she may choose who she gives her heart to! She has not chosen you! And you cannot let her die because you are unsatisfied with that!"

Before she could even realize what was happening, his hand was around her throat. She clawed at his hand, sputtering for air.

"I will not be spoken to that way in my own home," he hissed, tightening his grip. Her vision started to blur, and her knees gave out. He released her, letting her drop to the floor at his feet. She gasped loudly and began coughing. Truthfully, she was in shock. He'd never laid his hands on her as long as they'd known each other. He truly had gone mad.

"Please…" She managed to get out, still gasping for air, her voice hoarse. "She is like my own daughter. I could not bear to watch her bleed to death…"

"Your own daughter…" He said thoughtfully. He began pacing around the bed, back and forth. "Pray tell, Madame, which daughter is more important to you?"

She looked up at him from the floor, bewildered. "What?"

"Which of your little brats means more to you?"

She blinked dumbly at him for a moment, and then it suddenly hit her exactly what he was asking. "Stop. Do not ask that of me."

"Well, I'm sure you don't need me to tell you which one _I_ care for more." He was still pacing. "You must know, the other means little to me. Almost nothing."

"What on Earth are you talking about?"

"Must I really spell it out for you?" He chuckled darkly. "If you do not cooperate, I will not hesitate to snap the neck of your little girl."

Her blood ran cold. He had never made such threats before. "You would never."

"Oh, surely I would. It would be all too easy." He absentmindedly rubbed his throat, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

Watching him pace, stroking his throat, Antoinette could not help bringing her hands up to her own throat and anxiously rubbing the place he'd so thoughtlessly gripped…surely if he squeezed a little tighter he could have killed her, right then and there. If he was unhinged enough to lay a hand on her…perhaps he really would not hesitate to kill little Meg.

"All these years…you watched over her, protected her for me. Now you threaten her life?"

"I am not the one putting her in danger." Erik shrugged indifferently. He was still pacing. "You are the one hesitating to comply with my demands. What would she say if she knew? If she knew that you put her life in danger for Christine? For the daughter that is not even your own? Putting Christine's life above that of your own child — "

"Enough," Antoinette snapped. "What do you want from me?"

"Fetch a doctor. Bring him down here. Give no details to anyone. If you come back with anyone other than a doctor, I will kill them. And if that doesn't satisfy me, perhaps I will go in search of your little girl as well. Oh, and if Christine dies before you return…I guarantee there _will_ be absolute _hell_ to pay."

If Antoinette had known what was to happen, she never would have gone.

* * *

 _Hang on tight folks, it gets pretty dark after this._

 _I really don't want to spoil anything, but the next chapter may upset certain people that have been through the events I've written about. If you have any specific triggers/bad memories and are worried, please PM me, and I will advise you against reading any further if need be. This is probably not necessary, but one can never be too careful. The last thing I would ever want is someone coming away from this story upset because I've brought up something that disturbs them because of past experience._

 _Anyway, please leave more reviews! All the reviews on the last chapter are greatly appreciated! Much love!_


	3. Chapter 3

Antoinette was wringing her hands in the dining room. His footsteps were now a steady rhythm. He was pacing endlessly right outside the door where Christine lay. The doctor had been working for quite a while now. Surely something was terribly wrong. Surely Raoul was already waiting outside the Opera with his carriage, ready to whisk Christine away. For now, Meg was distracting him. But it wouldn't be long before he realized that something was not right.

Antoinette had found Meg barely conscious on the floor of Christine's dressing room, and had immediately recognized the work of chloroform. After fully bringing her to consciousness, Meg was panicked, blaming herself for letting him get Christine.

"Listen to me, Meg. You must listen to me very carefully." The girl immediately shut her mouth, her lip trembling. "The Vicomte must not know what has happened. If anyone goes in search of her, _he will kill them_." Meg panted heavily, her eyes wide with fear. "And that includes you."

Meg whimpered slightly and opened her mouth to speak, but her mother silenced her again. "When the Vicomte arrives, you must keep him busy. Tell him Christine is at our flat picking up some things. _He must not know_. Do you understand?"

Meg nodded fretfully.

Truthfully, Antoinette worried that her daughter would not be able to keep it in. She was not deaf; she heard all the gossip that her ballet girls spewed, and she knew that her daughter was the first of them all to open her mouth. She knew Meg could not help it; she was a chatty young girl. There was rarely any harm in it. But today, Meg's silence was of grave importance. Antoinette briefly wondered if she should have left Meg unconscious…but surely that would rouse more suspicions.

No, she did everything that she could have done. All they could do now was wait. And they did wait, for several more minutes of hand wringing and pacing footsteps. The doctor had been wildly confused when she'd barged into his office and demand he come with her, no questions asked, and he'd nearly turned around when she'd started leading him into the bowels of the Opera. Antoinette had insisted that there was a young girl's life at stake, a young mother.

"If you let your fear prevent you from saving her, you are no better than the man who put her in this state."

That had seemed to work. Although, she was certain that the man would turn and run when he saw the tall, threatening, masked man in the sitting room. He hadn't, though. He'd paused and given a fearful look, but only for the briefest moment. He'd quickly insisted on seeing his patient, and Antoinette had led him into the room, and he'd shut the door behind him. She didn't have to tell him what happened; she'd already briefed him on the way there.

The sound of a door opening made Antoinette jump. The pacing stopped. She leapt out of her chair and rushed to the sitting room.

"She is alive," the doctor said. Antoinette sighed with relief. "But she's still unconscious. She has lost a lot of blood. Whatever…trauma…" He gave the tall masked man a dubious look. "…was inflicted on her and the child caused hemorrhaging."

"The child?" Antoinette asked.

"The child…did not survive." Antoinette's hand flew to her mouth with a horrified gasp. "I'm sorry. I did all I could."

"Will she die?" His voice made her blood boil.

"She could," the doctor said firmly, almost accusatorially, glaring at the masked man. Antoinette could see the hate in the doctor's eyes. She could tell he wanted very badly to reprimand him, but was concerned more for his own safety.

" _Do something_." His fists were clenched.

The doctor stiffened with fright. "Well…I could perform a transfusion — "

"Of blood?"

"Yes. But it is dangerous. It could — "

"Do it."

"Alright. Just know, it could kill her."

"If you let her die, I will kill you. Do it."

The doctor gave him an incredulous look, then shook his head in disbelief. This was certainly not how he'd imagined his day going…

"I…she needs a donor."

"I am her guardian," Antoinette finally spoke up after her few moments of shocked silence. "I will do it."

" _I_ am her guardian." He interrupted. "She is mine."

"You are the one that did this to her!" Antoinette shouted. "Sit down and silence yourself!"

"You will not — "

" _You_ will not!" she spat right back. "I've had enough! All these years you loathed yourself for being a monster, and I always told you that you did not have to become the monster the world thought you were. Well…" She took a deep breath, tears clouding her vision. "You've certainly done it now."

She turned away quickly and gestured for the doctor to take her inside. She expected the tightness of his hands around her throat again, but it did not come. Instead she heard the sound of him sinking into the sofa. She was surprised, but she did not have time to contemplate it. Her daughter needed her.

* * *

The procedure didn't take long, and it was rather painless. She just felt weak, a bit dizzy. Now she was sitting at Christine's bedside. Whether or not she had breath, she already looked dead. If she hadn't known any better, she would have fallen to her knees and wept at the sight of her dead body. She was stroking her hair, silent tears falling down her face. _I could have done more…I_ should _have done more…I should have protected you from him…_

Antoinette suddenly noticed beads of sweat covering Christine's forehead. Concerned, she laid her hand across her forehead.

"She's burning up!" She felt around her whole face. "Everywhere! She's burning up!"

The doctor rushed to her side, and Antoinette moved out of his way.

"This is what I feared…A cool rag, quickly…" Antoinette immediately complied to this demand, dunking a fresh rag into the clean basin of water and handing it to the doctor. He dabbed it all over her face and neck.

"What is happening?"

"A bad reaction to the transfusion…" A pained moan suddenly came from Christine, and she started trembling.

"Fever and chills…the most serious reactions…" The doctor was mumbling more to himself now, pulling various instruments out of his bag and doing God knows what to her.

From Christine came a pitiful whine, and Antoinette flew to her side, sitting on the side of the bed on which the doctor was not working. She grasped Christine's hand and squeezed tightly.

" _Papa_ …" the girl whimpered. Her eyes were still closed, her head was thrashing. The trembling became more fierce. " _Papa…I am sick…"_

"Hush now, child. It's alright…"

Antoinette noticed from the corner of her eye that the doctor had stopped his frantic movement. She looked up at him expectantly. He shook his head gravely.

"There is…nothing to be done for her anymore…I am deeply sorry."

Antoinette's chest tightened.

" _Papa…It hurts…_ "

Antoinette swallowed her own pain and turned her attention back to Christine. "It's alright…"

" _Mama? Mama is that you?_ "

Tears suddenly spilled onto Antoinette's cheeks. "Yes…" Her voice broke. "I'm here…" She gently stroked the girl's head. "Mama is here…"

" _I'm cold, Mama…_ " The trembling increased again. " _Cold…_ "

"You will be warm soon." She moved closer to her, and took her thrashing little body in her arms. "Shh…it's alright…" The poor girl whimpered as Antoinette rested her head on her shoulder and wrapped her arms around her frail body. "Mama will keep you warm…" She could barely get the sentence out; it was interrupted by a devastated sob. She began rocking the girl as if she were a babe.

Christine was still trying to speak, but her mouth was barely open, her voice was nothing but little moans and whimpers. Antoinette rocked her, hushed her, soothed her, until the trembling slowed, and the moans and whimpers became less and less frequent.

"Mama loves you, Christine…" She was quiet now, still. Her breathing was ragged and slow. "I love you."

Antoinette pressed her lips to Christine's forehead.

She was gone.

* * *

A long time had passed, and the only way she could tell was that Christine was no longer burning hot to the touch. She would be cold soon.

Antoinette still held her close. She was not ready to give her up yet.

She and the doctor were both reluctant to give _him_ the news. They had not verbally confirmed this with each other, but they could tell that the other wanted to delay the inevitable as soon as possible. His threat still echoed in both of their minds:

 _"_ _If you let her die, I will kill you."_

They both seriously doubted he would fail to live up to that promise.

She could not lie to him. She would not have the strength to go out there and tell him that all was well. Even if she did, how long could she keep that up? He would expect her to wake up, and he would expect to be able to carry her away to God knows where. Perhaps he would have killed the doctor anyway so he could not live to tell the tale of what he'd seen.

Antoinette suddenly realized that she'd been stroking Christine's arm all that while without even thinking about it. She stopped, and focused her eyes on the girl's pale face. _You never had a chance…the moment he laid eyes on you, you didn't ever stand a chance…_

"We have to do something." The doctor's voice interrupted her thoughts. "We cannot stay in here forever."

"I know." Antoinette reluctantly relinquished her hold on Christine. For the first time in her life she regretted being such a cold, detached person. She did not hold Christine enough, did not stroke her hair or kiss her head enough. The most she'd ever done those things were just now, on the girl's deathbed. And now she never would again.

She made note to hold Meg tighter than ever when they were reunited, to kiss her head and tell her she loved her as much as she could.

"The bathroom has a lock," Antoinette said as she gently pulled the sheet over Christine's head. "Go inside and lock it. He does not have a key. It was meant to be opened by her and her only."

"Madame, forgive me, but I cannot lock myself away like a coward and let you — "

"Why? Because I am a woman?" She said indifferently. "You do not know him. He _will not_ hesitate to snap your neck. Allow me to break it to him and talk some sense into him first. For all we know, he would have killed you either way."

The doctor muttered something that sounded like "Good Lord," before shuffling into the bathroom.

Antoinette waited for the click of the lock before making her way to the door into the sitting room. She opened it slowly. Before she saw him, she heard him scrambling up from the sofa. She shut the door behind her.

She believed he already knew…he knew all along.

"She is dead."

She waited. He would lash out. He needed someone to blame, someone to punish.

She just happened to be right there.

Before she realized what was happening, there was a tight pressure on her throat again, and she was slammed up against the door she'd just come out of. Colors danced around her eyes.

"You were supposed to save her! Your blood killed her! _Your blood_!"

The world around her started fading away. She did not even have the energy to claw at his hands. He would never learn. It would always be someone else's fault…never his…

As her world went black, she vaguely wondered why he'd chosen to kill her so slowly rather than just snap her neck.

There was suddenly a loud bang, and the pressure was gone. She felt a ragged gasp escape her throat again, and she felt herself slide against the door and slip to the ground. She heard a voice that was all too familiar to her, although it sounded as if it were millions of miles away.

" _Maman!_ "

She felt little hands grab her shoulders and shake her violently.

"Maman, please!"

Her sight slowly returned to her, and her eyes focused on the frightened face of her daughter.

"Where is she?" A new voice. "Is she in her room?"

"Maman, are you alright?" Meg cupped her mother's face in her hands. "Oh, I always knew he would kill you someday…"

Antoinette threw her arms around her daughter and squeezed her tighter than she had in a long time.

"Madame Giry, tell me she is in there. Tell me she is alright."

"Oh, Maman…"

The boy was demanding that she speak, but she could not find the words. She could not tell him. She simply cried and held her precious girl to her.

* * *

They were blocking the doorway, and she was not answering him. He had half a mind to throw them out of his way. Just when he was about to start shouting, the door opened. Madame Giry nearly fell backward into the room, but Meg held her up in their embrace. A little man stood in the doorway, and he looked back and forth between the gun in Raoul's hand and the body on the ground.

"I heard the gunshot…I thought it was him…I thought she…"

"Let me see her." Raoul dropped the gun and practically barreled the man down.

He froze two steps into the room.

The sheet was pulled over her head.

"No," he whispered. From the corner of his eye, he saw the tiniest of bundles resting on the dresser, wrapped in what appeared to be a pillow case. " _No_."

He practically jumped onto the bed. He tore the sheet back and nearly vomited. She was… _grey_ …

He shook his head vehemently. "Tell me it's not true…" He scooped her frail little body into his arms. "Tell me it's not true…"

"I…I'm sorry, Monsieur…"

"Tell me it's not true!" he wailed, shaking her violently. "Tell me she is asleep! Tell me _that_ is not my child! _Tell me it's not true_!"

"I did everything I could."

" _No!_ " It was a loud, prolonged, tortured scream. He sobbed freely into her hair, cradling her close to him.

He heard a horrified female shriek. Meg covered her mouth with her hands and wept profusely as her mother held her tightly.

Several minutes passed in this manner, perhaps hours. Raoul's tortured cries, Meg's devastated wailing, Madame Giry's silent tears.

Meg had quieted herself to hiccoughing, and Raoul had fallen silent, still cradling his fallen love. It was cruel…so, so cruel. The last time he saw her, she was alive and well, carrying their child. She was laughing, smiling; her cheeks were pink, her lips were warm. He tried to kiss her one last time, and he immediately wished he hadn't. It was like kissing metal, like…well…like kissing dead flesh. And the feeling of it would forever be burned into his memory. No more would he remember the beautiful lips that kissed him back, that parted for his tongue…only the cold, unwelcoming kiss of the dead.

"The child." Raoul's voice broke the silence.

The doctor cleared his throat. "A girl."

His head spun. _She would have been my little girl…oh, how I would have spoiled her…how I would have cherished her…how Christine would have loved her…_

"Bring her to me."

"Monsieur, I assure you, you don't want to — "

"I want to hold my daughter," he snapped.

The doctor obeyed, bringing the tiny white bundle to him with the greatest care. Raoul was both astonished and sickened. His daughter fit in the palm of his hand.

He gently lay Christine down and placed the little bundle on her chest. He folded her small, frail hands over it.

 _"_ _There…there is life in there," he marveled. "This is our child…"_

 _"_ _Yes…" she breathed, tears welling up in her eyes again. "This is our family."_

"Our family…" He muttered, resting his hands on hers. Together, their hands entirely covered their child.

Meg made another horrified sound and began crying all over again. Raoul kissed her forehead — his lover, his fianceé, his bride — for the last time. He then pulled the sheet back over her head, covering his two precious girls for eternity.

* * *

Her murderer was unceremoniously buried by the lake. Nobody stood and prayed for him; nobody could stomach it. Madame Giry had simply muttered "God forgive him," and walked away. Raoul had bitterly remarked that he would have put the bullet in his back a million times again before spitting on the unmarked grave.

"I do hope God forgives him," Meg had said, choking on her words. "Because I cannot." Had she the nerve, she too would have spit on the grave.

She is buried beside her father. Atop her coffin rests the tiny coffin, no bigger than a shoebox, yet beautiful all the same, purest white. He wanted both of their coffins to be white.

 _Christine Daaé_

 _1863-1881_

 _Her Little Girl_

 _1881_

 _Our Family_

He could not give her a name, not without Christine. Every one that he thought of, he could not bring himself to call her it. Not without asking Christine how she felt, not without seeing her smile at the sound of the name, not without watching her stroke her stomach and greet her by her name for the first time. Not without seeing the child's sweet little face. He could not bear it.

His family hadn't wanted a big scene. They hadn't even wanted to be involved in her burial. They did not want the inevitable scandal that such involvement would bring.

"Let the Giry's take care of it."

He'd nearly knocked his brother over. His fianceé and their child were not things to be _taken care of_.

He'd used only his personal savings from his time in the navy to pay for the coffins, the gravestone, and the statue he'd commissioned. It was marble, purest white, like their coffins. An angel girl cradling an infant, tenderly kissing her head.

He never returned to the Navy; he could not. If he were away at sea, he could not visit his angels every Sunday. Not a single week went by that he did not go them with flowers. Sometimes he just wept. Sometimes he talked to her.

"Tell her I love her, Christine," he said one day. "Tell her I am sorry I could not name her. I am sure whatever you call her suits her perfectly. Tell her that her Papa loves her."

He never married, he never set foot in the Opera again. He hardly ever set foot anywhere apart from his house, the florist, and their grave. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that Christine would not want this. She would not want him to waste away. She would be ashamed of the shell of a man he'd become. She would want his life to have purpose.

But his heart felt dead. There was no use in finding happiness when it had all died with her. He could not find comfort in anything. When he'd promised himself to her with the intention of marriage, he'd committed himself to sitting by her bedside as she died peacefully of old age, after decades of bliss, with their many children around them. He'd promised her soothing words, he'd promised goodbyes, final professions of love. He did not commit to losing her like this…to a murderer.

Madame Giry had assured him several times that she had soothed her, that she held her, kissed her goodbye. That she was comfortable.

But it was not fair. It was not him.

Perhaps it might have been different if their child had lived. He would have had someone to raise in remembrance of her.

But he did not. He had nothing. _He_ had taken everything from him.

Although Raoul had bested him, Raoul had put that bullet in his back, it seemed the Phantom had won.

 _END_

* * *

 _Whew. That was a lot._

 _I hope you all enjoyed this and weren't too_ _disturbed by it. The point I tried to get across while writing this is that Christine is not perfect. The fact that Erik expected her to do exactly as he said every second of the day is ludicrous. She does pretty much follow his demands in all canons, but I wanted to explore what would happen if she...didn't. What if she really had gotten serious with Raoul a bit early? Christine is a normal teenage girl that wants to spend time with the boy she loves, and a pet peeve of mine is when phans shame/scold her for not listening to Erik, therefore blaming her for any harm that comes to her as a result of Erik's rage. This, my friends, is called victim blaming. I guess what I'm trying to say is that this is just one example of Erik going crazy on her, and you cannot possibly blame her. Christine is a victim in all canons, and in this story. She just wanted to live her life, man._

 _I mean, would you really avoid the man you love because someone tells you to?_

 _Thanks again for reading, and please remember to leave reviews for your final thoughts?_


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